


Rebels

by Vicxx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicxx/pseuds/Vicxx
Summary: Harry's pining, Draco has ceased to give a shit, and it's a bet to see who will last longer.





	Rebels

**Author's Note:**

> So this was an idea that lodged itself in my head, so I spit it into a google doc, and voila! Thank you so much to the friend on Tumblr who gave me this idea, and who babbled at me about Beyonce while I wrote it--by the way, for the best experience, throw on 2009 Beyonce and Little Mix's new album.

_September 2, 1998_

Harry sat down in the Great Hall, looking around at the healed room, a bit numb. Four months, and he could still see where the Weasleys had huddled over Fred, where Tonks and Remus had been lain down, where so many had…  
“Hey,” Hermione touched his arm as she sat, Ron settling across from them, both of them looking at him in understanding, “we know.”  
“Don’t focus on it, mate,” Ron was already talking with his mouth full, “You know they’d hate it.”  
Harry took a deep breath, and shook off the veil of numbness with some effort, pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, and tried to focus on eating.  
That lasted all of about a minute, because the Great Hall opened, and there was an uproar.  
“Is that-?”  
“There’s no way-”  
“His _hair_ -!”  
Harry looked up, curiosity peaked, and his jaw dropped.  
Draco Malfoy stood there, with that ruddy smirk and...and _bright blue hair_. It practically glowed in the morning light, its sheer blueness daring anyone to look away. Malfoy looked….Malfoy looked….  
“Harry?” Ron nudged his friend, followed his gaze, and groaned, “‘Mione he’s doing it again.”  
Harry was entirely oblivious to their discussion, he was memorising the details of Malfoy’s appearance. He was wearing his robes open to reveal the white pressed button down, with the top three buttons undone, revealing a line of pale flesh that made Harry squirm. Malfoy’s trousers were black, and hugged his muscled legs, and his arm—  
Harry’s eyes zeroed in on the dark mark, which Malfoy made no effort to hide, but it was _different_. As Harry watched, narcissus flowers bloomed from in and around the mark, their full bloom obscuring it entirely, the colours ranging from cream to violet, and they were….Harry had to look away.  
Hermione was smiling at him, that knowing look making Harry flush, “Shut it.” was all he said as he tucked in, decidedly ignoring Ron’s snort.  
“Harry-.”  
“I’m _not_ obsessing,” Harry muttered darkly, cheeks still pink, but then the shrieks started up again, and he looked—  
To see Malfoy _snogging Theodore Nott._  
Harry’s vision tunnelled, staring as Malfoy’s hands tangled into Nott’s hair as Nott put his hands-  
Harry got up and left the Great Hall, seeing red He heard Hermione coming after him, and he doubted he left without notice, but he wasn’t going to just sit there and-  
“Harry!”   
Harry kept going, right out the front doors, down to the lake, and before he could think better of it, he sent his fist flying into a tree.  
He proceeded to spew curses as his fingers cracked, and blood spurted from his knuckles.  
“Merlin’s saggy tit!” Harry cursed, cradling his hand, his mood darkening.  
Hermione caught up to him, quickly healing his hand, _“Episkey.”_   
Harry murmured his thanks, refusing to look at her. He stared into the lake, fuming.  
“Harry, don’t let this ruin your year,” Hermione said, sighing when he still refused to look at her.  
The clock chimed for the first class, and Hermione sighed, “Don’t focus on it, Harry. It’ll do you no good.”  
With that, she walked away.

____________________________

Draco sat in his double block of charms, scanning the gryffindors for a familiar mop of hair, his mood worsening with each passing minute. His stunt at breakfast hadn’t the effect he had planned— Potter had gone running, and hadn’t returned.  
“Stop staring, Draco,” Nott murmured in his ear, still laughing from this morning.  
“I can look if I want,” he turned, pretending to say something salacious to the other boy.  
It had taken a week to convince Nott that this would work, and his confidence had been shaken.  
At that moment, Potter walked in, and Draco played the act, arm around Nott as he held his lips to his ear, but his eyes didn’t leave the other man.  
Potter spotted them immediately, cheeks colouring as his brow drew down, and he forced his head down and took a seat in the front, so he wouldn’t have to look at them.   
“He’s jealous,” Nott whispered, unsurprised, but Malfoy huffed.  
Pansy and Blaise slid in around the two slytherins, immediately joining their conversation, “I’ve already got a betting pool for when he snaps,” Blaise said quietly, “Highest bid is 20 galleons he’ll break before Halloween.”  
Draco tuned them out, studying Potter as class commenced, absently moving his quill in a pretense of making notes.   
Potter had broadened over the summer, filling the muscular frame out well. His hair had grown out, and stuck out in a million directions, and he had already begun to fidget restlessly. He hated being cooped up—  
“Loverboy, pay attention,” Nott mumbled in Draco’s ear, and he blinked to realise they were moving to practicum. Bollocks, what were they practicing?  
“Confringo,” Pansy mumbled subtly as they moved, and Draco nodded at her— thankfully, he knew that one.   
So the rest of the lesson was spent making sure no one singed his eyebrows, and flirting with Nott, watching Potter’s jaw clench as his wand movements grew jerkier and more aggressive. Draco was actually having a great time, until—   
_“Confringo!”_ Potter launched a spell at the dummy, and the fire he unleashed obliterated it, leaving barely even ash, and it went for the wall.  
“ _Finite!_ Well done Mr. Potter, but do take care to control the reach of the flames,” Flitwick said, patting Potter’s elbow as he conjured a new dummy. Potter nodded, one quick jerk of the head, and looked murderous.  
Granger nudged him, obviously wondering what was wrong, but he shook her off. Granger and the Weasel shared a look, before both glanced towards Draco. Draco, having been caught watching, hastily returned to practice. Pansy and Blaise had noticed as well, and smirked— their poor, desperate friend.  
“Five galleons he makes the first move,” Nott mumbled to Blaise, for all the world looking to be focused on his casting, and Blaise snickered.  
“You’re on.”  
Draco hadn’t heard this exchange, was merely working on his casting, while surreptitiously glancing over at Potter, who still looked riled up. He smirked.  
When the clock chimed and it was time to move on, Draco laced his fingers with Nott’s, deliberately swaying his hips as he walked, knowing Potter was watching. Nott was chuckling at Draco, “You’re so gagging for it, Draco.”  
Draco swatted him with his free hand, eyes narrowed even as he kept up appearances, “Wanker.”  
__________________________________

_September 16, 1998_

Two weeks. Two _weeks_ Harry had to suffer through seeing Malfoy everywhere he went, flirting or snogging, or existing with Nott and his _blue.hair._ Harry was going to go insane.  
“Hermione-.”  
“If you say one more thing about Malfoy she might hex you,” Ron offered, and Harry glared at him, cheeks flaring. Hermione, for her part, didn’t disagree with her boyfriend.  
Suddenly, Seamus Finnegan sat down on Harry’s other side, throwing his arm around his shoulders, “Harry, mate, when are you going to give us all a rest?”  
Harry’s mouth opened and closed rapidly, quite like a fish, as Dean Thomas deposited himself across from Harry, greeting Ron and Hermione as he went.  
“Harry, half the school has mad galleons riding on your ability to pine. But Seamus here-.” Dean gestured to the grinning irish man, “Seamus has a major bet riding that _you’ll_ make the first move here.”  
Harry’s face went through a myriad of expressions during this— offense, surprise, horror, currently residing in the range of gobsmacked.  
“I-you-er-what?” was all he managed to get out, his skin resembling the gryffindor common room in shade.  
“Boys,” Hermione sighed, refusing to disclose that she herself had set a couple galleons down on the two of them never resolving their issues— she might as well be realistic.  
“Come on Harry, help a bloke out!” Seamus was grinning, and Harry was aware of the eyes up and down the table focused on him. He opened his mouth again, closed it, and finally resolved to just pretend Seamus wasn’t there, and returned to his lunch.  
Ron, being surprisingly observant, had glanced over to see what the Slytherins thought of this— Seamus wasn’t exactly quiet— and noticed similar treatment being imparted on Malfoy, his own face flushed as those around him laughed. But then Nott proceeded to snog him, and Ron looked away, feeling nauseous.  
Harry saw the snogging though, and his eye twitched as he started holes in his food. He was so agitated that the table under his hand had begun to smoke as he burned it.  
“Harry!” Hermione lifted his hand from the wood, casting a repairing charm on it, and Harry hastily apologised, placing his hands on his lap and continuing to stew.  
As Harry zoned out, discussion broke out around him that he didn’t hear.  
“How long do you think he’ll keep quiet?” Ron said, praying Hermione could just fix it— if he had to suffer another evening of Harry ranting about Malfoy’s hair…  
“You know him, he’ll bottle it up until he finally snaps.” Hermione was concerned— there was no way this was healthy for Harry, who kept casting longing glances over to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was laughing, his adam’s apple bobbing as his head was thrown back.  
“Do you think Malfoy’ll do anything?” Seamus asked, having noticed that the other man had been casting regular glances over to their table, namely Harry.  
“No way, he’s too chicken shit to try anything,” Dean said decisively, and everything sighed, knowing it was probably true.  
Suddenly, Harry’s head shot up, and when they followed his look, they saw Malfoy leading Nott away by the hands, the innuendo explicit. Harry fairly vibrated, and a napkin lit itself on fire as Harry’s eyes followed the pair.  
Hermione hurriedly put the fire out, and, after a stern look from the frizzy haired witch, the boys hastily tried to distract Harry, but to no avail.  
“I’m going for a fly.” Harry stood and stomped away, people’s eyes following his flight from the room, before erupting with conversation and speculation.  
Ron groaned, “He defeated the most powerful dark wizard ever, and is afraid of the _ferret._ ”  
______________________________

“Draco, he likes you.” Blaise said for about the eighteenth time that hour.  
“He’s always glaring at this,” Draco gestured to his arm, where the flowers were in full bloom, “what if he’s not a tattoo guy? I already had the heinous thing, but…” Draco groaned, worrying his lower lip.  
“Draco, darling, I love you, but if I hear one more word about Potter I might render you impotent myself.” Pansy said sweetly, and Draco glared at her.  
“They’re right, you know,” Nott said, arm around Draco for the act— truth be told, Nott was ready for them to get over themselves, there’s many a bird here to chase, and blokes weren’t his type.  
Draco continued fretting to himself as he stared at his notes, seeing nothing. He had thought to come to the library for a reprieve, but Potter was behind him, he could _feel_ his eyes on him.   
Draco frowned at his parchment, before looking at his books, “I have the wrong book.”  
He got up, studiously not looking as Potter’s eyes followed him, until he turned into the section for Arithmancy, and started scanning the titles for the correct one.  
He felt someone enter the isle with him, but he was engrossed in looking for this ruddy book— who forgot to translate the titles from Latin? — until he inhaled, and the distinct pine smell sent a shiver up his spine as he realised Potter had followed him. He carefully didn’t look behind him, but managed to drop the book he was holding. Thanking merlin he had worn his tight pants, he slowly bent over to retrieve title, smirking as he heard Potter’s sharp intake of breath, knowing he had the other man’s attention.   
He straightened, reaching to put the book up, having actually spotted the one he needed, and he squatted down, grabbing the book and paying close attention to the small gasp from Potter. He stood, and straightened, just catching Potter whipping around to face the ancient runes books. He smirked, “Runes, Potter?” He asked lowly, watching the flush spread up the other man’s neck.  
“Uh-er, Hermione needed a…” Potter was staring at Draco with wide eyes, his back flush with the books behind him. Draco smirked, walking past, deliberately letting his hand brush against the other man as he passed, the sharp inhale his just reward, and he carefully kept his face blank as he excited the stacks, returning to his table before smirking triumphantly.  
Nott’s arm went back around him, and his smirk widened— he was going to break Potter.  
“You look like the cat caught the canary,” Blaise said, noticing Draco’s face.  
“I think he might’ve,” Pansy nodded behind Draco, and Draco glanced over his shoulder to see Potter exciting the stacks, his face flaming and his breathing shallow. He absently handed Granger her book, before practically hiding away behind his.  
Draco turned back to his own work, opening the text whilst inwardly preening.  
“Want to piss him off?” Nott whispered in his ear, and when he nodded, he felt lips on his cheek, his neck, and he practically cheered as he heard the slam of books on the other side of the room.  
“Mr. Potter!” came Mrs. Pince’s shout, and the other Slytherins sighed— Draco was either going to get the man, or get himself hexed.  
Or Both.  
______________________________  
 _October 14, 1998_

Harry looked like shit. He kind of felt like it too. He hadn’t been able to sleep, especially since the library incident. His brain had decided that that would be the only suitable wanking material, ever, and he was going to go _mad._  
Malfoy had continued to flaunt himself and Nott, wearing his ridiculously tight pants, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, displaying his tattoo and that hair—   
“Harry, you’re drooling,” Hermione said tiredly, and Harry shook his head, blinking rapidly and realising that yes, he did have drool on his chin. Ron was snickering at him.  
Harry spent the morning struggling to focus, always drifting until he could hear Malfoy’s voice, soft and warm, murmuring— he’d shake his head, hunkering down to try and not fail all his classes. Even in his classes without the slytherin, and he was still hearing his voice, smelling his cologne…  
He wasn’t doing any better at lunch either, when Seamus sat down next to him.  
“Harry, mate.” he started, only hesitating under his quelling look for a moment, “It’s only a couple weeks until Halloween. We poor sods need some closure!”  
“Seamus, leave him be.” Hermione said, head stuck in her ancient runes text.  
“He’s right though, Harry,” Dean said, and even Ron was nodding some, “It’s been six weeks!”  
“I’m aware, Dean,” Harry scrubbed at his face tiredly, wanting to go back to bed, knowing all that would happen is he would dream.  
“Mate, you look miserable,” leave it to Ron to be blunt, “Either do something about it, or at least try to move on.”  
“From what? There’s nothing…” Harry didn’t even have it in him to lie, and he set his forehead on the table, defeated.  
“There’s a hogsmeade trip soon,” Seamus said hopefully.  
Harry waved a hand at him, done with people for the foreseeable future. He was so tired…  
He heard the whoosh of the owls, followed by the quick succession of shrieks and gasps as conversation kicked up a notch.  
“Harry…” Hermione nudged him, and when he looked at her, she handed him a copy of the _Prophet_. Harry scanned the article quickly, the blood rapidly draining out of his face as his sexuality was made explicit for all of wizarding Britain. He looked up, feeling a bit green, to see eyes all over looking at him, pitying, smug, vindictive.  
Harry stood, ignoring his friends concern, and numbly walked out of the Great Hall, his head spinning as he summoned his broom.  
He made it to the Quidditch pitch, where no one had followed him, and took off, attempting to outfly his frustration, his fear….his longing.  
 _“Potter?” Malfoy said lowly, his eyes burning with a fire that scared Harry and made him want more._   
Harry landed, stumbling as he did so, and shouted, “FUCK!” He took off again, flying faster and harder, doing the wronski feint, the barrel roll, going through the hoops, nearly hitting the stands, flying a foot from the ground— the harder his heart pumped, the more he could pretend everything was okay.  
But it _wasn’t._  
Harry hit the ground, having lost focus for only a moment, and went rolling once, twice, three times, his broom flung across the pitch, and he finally slowed with a hard thud. Ow.  
“Bloody hell,” Harry propped himself up on his elbows, squinting for his glasses….which were in pieces ten feet away. Fuck.  
He gathered the pieces up carefully— Hermione was the only one he knew who could fix them without messing the prescription up. He summoned his broom, his body aching, and limped off to the locker room. He really needed to wear his gear when he flew.  
He made it into the showers, setting his stuff down and shrugging out of his robes, studying the torn patches and filthy fabric; Hermione was going to kill him.   
He shrugged out of his clothes, before going to the showers and stepping under the showerhead, the hot spray of water soothing aching muscles. He felt his eyes burning, and he decided fuck it, no one could tell if he cried in here.  
He sat down on the cold tile, hugging his knees to his heaving chest as the sobs were stolen from him by emotion, and he bit his lip hard as the tears welled up. _Fuck._  
_____________________________________  
Draco had made his way to the quidditch pitch, his own heart pounding after reading that article— Potter wasn’t okay. Nott and company had offered to come with him, but he felt he might need to do this alone.  
He got down there, and saw Potter, flying far too recklessly, and he yelped as Potter suddenly slammed into the ground, rolling ass over tea kettle before settling with a thud in the grass, his broom flung aside and his glasses shattered. Draco sped up some, but slowed again when Potter sat up, spewing curses and rubbing his head. He limped off to the locker room, and Draco stepped onto the pitch, watching as the other man disappeared.  
Draco sat on the grass, looking at the sky as he wondered if he was fucking this up.   
Potter’s obviously not happy. He looks like he could be knocked over with a touch, and he was mucking up his classes. Something’s up with him, and Draco had a sinking feeling he might be part of the problem. Then that ruddy article...Draco felt a coal of anger in his stomach on Potter’s behalf. Potter wasn’t out publicly, and that probably wasn’t how he had wanted to come out.  
Draco glanced in the direction of the locker room, worrying his lip as he thought.  
The door opened, and Draco disillusioned himself, retreating to the shadows as Potter came out. His hair was wet, and his eyes were red— he had been crying. Draco wanted to go to him, but…  
He was a coward.  
So he settled for quietly following him back to the castle. He fell into step behind Potter, watching him in profile. His face was softer than it had been for a while, his anger having fallen away. Potter looked...he looked lost. Draco hadn’t been paying attention, and he crunched a twig. He froze as Potter stopped, _shit._  
Draco held his breath as Potter turned, wand in hand, looking right through Draco, down at the twig, eyebrows furrowed. Draco felt his heart rate go up _don’t breathe don’t breathe—_  
“Harry!”  
Potter turned, and Draco quietly gulped in air, relaxing as he walked to meet Granger, who had concern written on her face.  
Potter quietly held out his glasses, and with a concerned huff, Granger repaired them, “Do you want to talk?” she asked, and Draco felt the sense that he was intruding.  
Potter opened his mouth, shut it, then shook his head, “Just needed to clear my head.”  
Granger sighed, “Harry, you know pining won’t do any good.”  
Draco bit his lip hard to keep from gasping; Potter was _pining?_  
“Hermione. I don’t-,” he stopped, scrubbing a hand over his face, and just walked back towards the castle.  
Draco didn’t follow them— he was on cloud nine. Potter was pining. That meant he…  
Draco felt the grin spread across his face, but it was quickly curtailed by annoyance. If Potter felt something, why the hell hadn’t he _done_ something about it?  
Draco made his way back to the common room, settling in beside Nott as he thought on it.  
“Draco, why so morose?” a 6th year asked.  
Before Draco could open his mouth, a chorus of voices answered, “Potter.”  
Draco coloured and glared at the room at large, but they paid him no mind.  
“You _could_ just ask him out yourself,” Nott said, and Draco groaned.  
“Of course he won’t, he’s afraid of rejection, even though Potter’s smitten,” Pansy quipped, and by this point Draco was rouge and glaring at the lot of them. Bunch of wankers.  
“Though maybe he’ll make a move now that the world knows he’s a poof.” Blaise said thoughtfully, but Draco whacked with a pillow.  
“He’s even _less_ likely to do anything now, because now the world’s paying _attention_ to him.” Draco said vehemently, which gave the room pause.  
There were always moments where the slytherins were surprised by how much Draco paid attention to Potter, and it came up when he was startlingly insightful regarding the boy who lived.  
After the moment of silence, Nott finally spoke, “Draco, you’re doomed.”  
_____________________________  
 _November 3, 1998_  
Harry was _tired._ People were getting more overt with their teasing, with their bets, with their….existence. He just wanted them to go away.  
And _Malfoy_ was being, if possible, more flamboyant than before, hanging all over Nott and flirting constantly, swaying his hips, flipping his hair…  
Harry was glaring now at the pair, whispering in each others ears during Transfiguration, and on top of his headache, the lack of sleeping, the gossip, the stares…  
He snapped. His patience, and his quill.  
Harry stood, preparing to storm from the room, when Mcgonagall stopped him, “Mr. Potter, what do you think you’re doing?”  
“Getting some air,” Harry snapped, inwardly already cringing.  
“Problem, Potter?” Malfoy called, that damn smug smirk still in place.  
The entire room held its breath in anticipation— as far as they knew, this was the first interaction of the boys since school started. This was the confrontation. Coin purses shuddered in preparation.  
Harry turned and speared Malfoy with a look, “Yeah, actually, you are a problem. You and your constant demonstration of just how much of a ruddy _poof_ you-.”  
Harry hadn’t noticed that Malfoy had been moving forward, so engrossed was he in finally getting this off his chest, but he was cut off with a completely dignified squeak as Draco grabbed his face and pulled him into a bruising kiss. Harry’s world tunnelled down to the feeling of Malfoy’s lips on his, of his hands, and the room was _completely_ silent for the solid minute that the two kissed, until Malfoy finally pulled back, eyes dilated and smirk smug, “Seems I’m not the only poof, hm?”  
Harry pulled him back into another kiss, and the room _erupted_ with cheers and laments about money. Even Mcgonagall wasn’t entirely sure what to do— but she did know that Pomona owed her a drink for this.  
Finally, Mcgonagall, conceding that she wouldn’t get the class under control today, simply dismissed them, and money rapidly started changing hands, Seamus loudly mourning his 50 galleons, and Nott happily making an arse load of gold.  
Neither Harry nor Malfoy noticed— they were absorbed into each other.  
“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, kindly leave my classroom if you wish to continue...this,” Mcgonagall finally broke them apart, both their faces flushed.  
They made it as far as the corridor before Malfoy had Harry pinned to the wall, hands everywhere at once as he snogged the daylights out of him. Harry’s hands found their way to that ruddy blue hair, fingers finally tangling into the soft strands.  
They were oblivious to the magical camera that went off, so wrapped up were they in each other. Hermione, Ron, Pansy, Blaise, and Nott were off to the side, sighing at their friends.  
“Weren’t you and Malfoy dating, though?” Hermione asked, and Nott barked a laugh.   
“If dating means flirting to piss off another man, then sure,” Nott replied, and Hermione smiled— losing a couple of galleons was worth it.

___________________________  
 _March 17, 1999_

“Hermione they’re doing it again,” Ron moaned, hiding his face in the couch of the Gryffindor common room.  
Hermione looked to see Harry and Draco— he had long since grown familiar enough for the first name— snogging by the fire, Harry curled into the other boy as they kissed. Hermione smiled, returning to her notes.  
“It’s worse than when they hated each other,” Ron whined.  
“At least we don’t have to listen.”  
With seemingly perfect timing, Harry made a high pitched keening sound, eliciting giggles from around the room and more whining from Ron.  
Hermione smiled; they’ll be fine.


End file.
